Betrayal

Somewhere deep in the chicken's dying brain is a deserving sense of betrayal that the hand that feeds it also has the capacity to behead it. Though she hadn't opened her eyes all afternoon, she died with them staring straight at me in a final understanding of the inherent cruelty of life. I fucking hate killing chickens. 

The Moral Mud of Sustainability

"...I'm starting to wonder if you are pro alternative energy or alternative government, anti GMO or anti capitalism, for the people or for the people that already have everything they need… to be honest your blogs don't really mesh that well, together that is. Your "ideals" are repetitive yet somehow seem all over the place. It's baffling and exhausting. However, I did enjoy your early blogs very much though (grit and progress)… I understand your passion but you have some karmic knots my friend, that perhaps only some much needed truly disconnected meditation can untie."

                 -Part of a string of 17 anonymous comments from my blog on Reforestation

January is the three year anniversary of my first blog post. When I first began writing in November 2010 (I didn't post until Jan 2011) I was recovering from being run over by a motor boat in the Kaiwi Channel. It was a transformative time for me (and still is) and I wrote in order to record the journey and clarify my thoughts as we transitioned to an off-grid life. As I began building my future home I immersed myself in the writings of Henry Thoreau, Masanobu Fukuoka, Bill Mollison, and Daniel Quinn. They clarified my draw to the land, they taught me that the best lessons come from nature, and they illustrated the failures of humanity. Combined with the fuck it social perspective that a near-death experience imparts, I wrote openly (as I still try to do). With the self-satisfying moral superiority gained by my religious devotion to the concept of sustainability, I was happy and life was simple. There was a right and there was a wrong. Planting nitrogen fixing pigeon pea was right, consuming genetically modified food was wrong. The pragmatic compromise of government was sickening to me, so I focused my writing on what I could directly impact: my land.

As I've written about before, the awareness of climate change forced me to adjust my perspective. My contribution to the problem wiped away my moral superiority. I, as everyone who lives in the developed world, am the problem. Living off-grid wasn't a solution and removing myself from society was even worse. As the hypocrisy of moral judgement fell out from beneath me, I was forced to re-evaluate my entrenched positions. And my writing evolved from simple yurt building and tree planting to what it is today; a painful wade through the moral swamp land of sustainability. The journey of my thoughts are akin to the American pacifist in World War II who is suddenly aware of the horrors of the Nazi regime and who's entire life philosophy is suddenly thrown into question. The morality of abstaining from war is worse than entering the war, yet both are abhorrent. We don't have the satisfaction of choosing between good and evil, right and wrong: we have a slew of shitty options. 

So, in that vein, I condemn industrial agriculture for its failures yet maintain that we need all tools to feed the world; I support genetic modification yet I practice permaculture and consume organic foods; I abstain from driving (whenever possible) to limit my carbon emissions yet I fly to O'ahu every other week for work; I write that capitalism is the cause of our problems yet I attribute its success to our explosion in productivity and resulting science, literature, and leisure time; I criticize government overreach yet advocate for stronger government authority as the sole hope in fighting climate change; I acknowledge my own privilege yet I write about the widening inequality gap; I am a hypocrite, but I'm trying. I'm not a saint or a politician, so my writing is fallible. Yes, it's a mixed bag of contradictions and I can't produce the simplified partisan themes and moral judgements that we are used to from the news and social media. The best I can do is muddle through and present my humble thoughts. Judging from the number of people that I've pissed off over the last year, not everyone wants to take that journey with me.

On that note, Happy New Year, and thank you for reading. I am deeply appreciative to everyone who follows along on my slow wade through the moral mud of sustainability.

Reforestation

The other day I practiced my rhetorical writing skills in a blog post which blurred my thoughts behind the drawn-out metaphor of gardening. Since I'm not a politician and have no interest in being a politician, I apologize for not just saying what I meant: the government is failing to protect Kaua'i socially and environmentally from the incessant force of the market. In other words, if you grow up on Kaua'i, are educated on Kaua'i, and work on Kaua'i, you will not be able to compete in a market tailored to overseas money (yes, there are some exceptions, but they are rare). Yet, with a 660 word post I never actually said that. Oh faithful reader, I promise you that, despite the urge, I will do my best to avoid the tempting art of rhetoric: saying a lot without saying anything. So, on that note…  

There was an interesting article in The New York Times about reforestation being a critical tool in the fight against climate change. (Before going any further, if you haven't already, please read my post on climate change-- in my opinion it's the only half-way decent post I've ever written and it sets the stage for what I'm going to say next). Notable in the NY Times article was the claim that if we can convert 1.2 billion acres (equivalent to half of US) of degraded ag land back into forest, we could temporarily* slow, or "possibly even halt" the rapid growth of carbon dioxide in the atmosphere. How do we do that? According to the article "researchers say it would be possible, in principle, if farming in poor countries became far more efficient" as "saving forests… will require producing more food much more intensively, on less land."  

How do we grow food more intensively? I don't know, but there are a few companies on Kaua'i that are committed to finding out, such as Dow, Pioneer, Syngenta, and BASF. Before you close your browser window in reaction to my environmental heresy, hear me out. While I've already written a partial defense of the seed companies activities on Kaua'i, I don't expect everyone to agree with me in supporting their presence here. I understand the reasons for fighting them and I spent years of my life arguing that the seed companies presence on Kaua'i was incompatible with our fragile ecosystem. At the time, no online blogger could sway my opinion, so I don't plan to sway yours. My gradual acceptance, and then support, for their activities here was a slow realization that increasing yields is one of the most important aspects in the dual fight against starvation and deforestation. There are plenty of other important tools in that fight, and I urge you to read Nathanael Johnson's Hungry Hungry Humans series on Grist for a thoughtful analysis of global food supply and how to combat hunger, poverty, and deforestation. 

Rather than debate the merits of the seed companies (because they definitely are not perfect environmental stewards), I just hope that we can collectively acknowledge that the fight against deforestation, hunger, and climate change requires every tool available. 

Beyond the seed companies, the article has more relevance to Hawai'i. We have no virgin low-land forests left on our islands and we have plenty of degraded farm land. Could reforestation be our strongest local weapon in the fight against climate change? In an era of pervasively stretched state and county budgets, there is almost zero political will to mitigate our impact on global climate change (i.e. reduce emissions). Even the Sea Grant report on climate change for Kaua'i (which, for some reason, is no longer available online) focuses extensively on adaptation techniques (i.e. dealing with rising seas) and very little on mitigation techniques. However, reforestation does not require political will, because the money is already available.

The Public Access, Open Space and Natural Resources Preservation Commission Fund** exists (as the name suggests) to purchase land for the preservation of open space and natural resources. At the end of 2014 the fund should have somewhere just under $5,000,000 in it, and because 1.5% of property taxes go straight to the fund, it's growing by about $1,500,000 per year. Further, the Hawaiian Island's Land Trust is the private equivalent to the county fund and has openly committed to helping with financial support for county land acquisition used to preserve open space and natural resources. That is a hugely significant source of available funding. What if that money were used to slowly acquire degraded farm land around Kaua'i for the purposes of reforestation?

Right now there are basically two options for degraded ag land: 1) seed company research and 2) development. Acquisition for the purposes of reforestation could provide a viable third option that would preserve open space, reduce the market pressures (land holders need to make money) for development or seed company expansion, minimize our island's contribution to climate change, and, in the future, possibly provide a viable source of bio-mulch for Kaua'i's local farmers. Since the fund can only be used for acquisition, a community organization (of which I believe there are plenty willing) would need to step up to the plate to organize the extensive reforestation of our low lands. 

In the words of Nigel Sizer (as quoted by NY Times), director of forest programs at the World Resources Institute: "Every time I hear about a government program that is going to spend billions of dollars on some carbon capture and storage program, I just laugh and think, what is wrong with a tree? All you have to do is look out the window, and the answer is there."

* "temporarily" is a key word. Trees don't solve the long term problem, especially because when they die, their stored carbon ultimately ends up being released as the wood decomposes. At best, it's a stop-gap to give ourselves an extra twenty years to solve the real problem: fossil fuels. 

** While I spent two years as an Open Space Fund commissioner (for some reason, the website still lists me), I resigned last month over a conflict of interest. Because I haven't attended the last few meetings, I'm not sure of the exact amount in the fund, but, as it was $3.3M at the end of 2013 I expect that it's somewhere just under $5M now. 

(In the interests of "click-bait" I've realized that if I have a picture on the post, more people follow the link.) One of about 80 Koa trees that my wife and I have seeded and planted (with the support of Kamanu) over the last few years. 

Balancing the Field

"Human existence may be simpler than we thought. There is no predestination, no unfathomed mystery of life. Demons and gods do not vie for our allegiance. Instead, we are self-made, independent, alone, and fragile, a biological species adapted to live in a biological world. What counts for long-term survival is intelligent self-understanding, based upon a greater independence of thought than that tolerated today even in our most advanced democratic societies." 

- E.O. Wilson

If there is dirt, sun, and water there will be growth. That part is simple. My role as gardener is to guide that growth, understand where it's heading, and ensure that my crops can compete against pests and invasives. It requires constant work, an understanding of agricultural science, a connection with the land, and, most importantly, a guiding vision for it. If I step out of the picture and allow nature to take its course, my yard will revert back to the ecological desert of guinea grass that it was when I began working on it four years ago.

While there are thousands of introduced plants in Hawai'i, only a few are invasive. And guinea grass is one of the worst. It likely evolved in a highly competitive environment tempered only by the incessant appetites of roaming ruminants. The sugar cane fields of my childhood are now guinea grass havens. It's always there, hanging around the margins of our land speculating the right time to spread its seed. My first job as gardener was to even the playing field for the native species, food crops, and other beneficials that I was introducing to my yard. After four years of weeding, digging, pruning, and mulching the land is now more diverse and biologically productive than would be possible without my input. The birds are coming back, flood events are less damaging than they were before (more plants to soak up the water and swales to divert it), I am adding top soil with the excess biomass, nitrogen fixing plants are minimizing my need for outside fertilizer, and, in my opinion, it's beautiful. Notice anything missing from that list? Unless I could survive off Thai basil, ginger root, and bananas-- I'm not getting much sustenance from the land, but that's another story.

While it's a diverse and symbiotic community of plants, it was created entirely by my own hand. There are rules that I was slow to learn (i.e. don't plant too close together, slow down the path of water, etc.) and there are natural limitations to growth, but, the direction is entirely up to me. Understanding my responsibility and relationship to the land was the first step; tailoring a vision for it was second; and undertaking a lifetime of making it work (pulling weeds, harvesting, supporting weak plants, etc) is a never-ending commitment. 

Because I'm predictable and my posts often follow a similar formula (societal revelations through the lessons of nature), you've probably guessed where I'm going with this stretched metaphor. Society, like my garden, is our own creation* and it's time that we own up to to our responsibilities. Change water to money, photosynthesis to capitalism, and we become the gardeners of society. In the words of David Suzuki, "capitalism, free enterprise, the economy, currency, the market, are not forces of nature, we invented them." 

Yet, we continually stifle our own transformative potential with the friction of bureaucracy on one hand and the illusion of the invisible hand on the other. If we can just grow the economy enough our problems will go away: in other words, the market will see us through. Look around, how's that strategy working out for us? One pervasive lesson after 238 years of the greatest political experiment in the history of humanity (democracy) is that it doesn't work without our constant engagement.

By disengaging from the system we are shirking our duty and in the process we are losing our quality of life. The massive systemic failures on Kaua'i aren't going to go away simply through growth or time. As everyone who has ever lifted a hoe knows, when you step back and rest on your laurels, invasives will win every time. 

*Creation is a tricky word. Obviously I didn't create the plants as much as an artist doesn't create his paint and a politician doesn't create his community. But, the vision, design, and outcome are all very much items of our creation.

  

"Yup that's me.. I speak"

Yup thats me...the one who can't speak your english.

Uh huh, I lack the speech you speak the way you teach that shit to me. 

Oops, annoyed are we? At my pronunciation of your words, the words that also teach me to say "yes, sir, "no ma'am," or "may I" instead of "can I." 

Say what you say, while I walk along in my path of speech with my tongue. I mean, as long as I survive the brutal beatings of my voice cuz I can't speak the way you speak and argue the way you yell.

Let it be known, that I lack your fluent tongue; your "whitewash" accent. Then again, will I want to lose my voice? Maybe I do; cuz it is only this where you might label me as educated in a society where my culture has been decapitated from the onset of my mother's hesitation to assimilate.

Yup this is me. A first generation/half Americanized, last generation immigrant of my family's misfortunes. Where my native tongue meets my learned speech; I'm stuck in the middle struggling to communicate with a mother who only speaks in my past and dealing with the real world telling me that I am not "educated" enough.

I mis-use your words in sentences, mis-place your pronouns and prepositions in my writings. Is this my fault? Yes, you say. Cuz in your world, one must speak your language to be allowed to take the oath of citizenry. Well, I guess my lack of fluency and literacy in your language labels me unfit.

I will take that label with pride. Cuz I am not what you want, but frankly you're not what I want.

I spoke my thoughts in the speech you have taught, so go on and re-read this for mistakes and grammar check, cuz all I have to say is: Yes, this is me, I can't speak english but I can speak.

20 Dec 06 3:37am

You probably guessed that I didn't write that. My bad-ass wife did. About an hour before meeting Sokchea for the first time (my friend Drew introduced us) I made the mistake of looking through her Facebook wall (if you think that's unusual, you must not be a member of the Millennial Generation). And, I stumbled upon that post. Yeah, it scared the shit out of me. Afraid to talk, I just sat there cradling my beer watching surf videos at Mai Tai Bar. (Note to Sokchea-- in retrospect, is cultural genocide really an appropriate first date conversation starter?? Note to myself-- is Mai Tais really an appropriate place for a first date??).  

Many in Hawai'i can relate to the anger, the mourning over cultural "decapitation," and the ensuing disenfranchisement that Sokchea writes about. Yet, I believe her words are even more valuable to people like me: those of us who can't relate to it. Grammatical articulation does not equal eloquence. I could never have written what Sokchea wrote above because I have no idea what it feels like to struggle with a language or carry the stereotype of that struggle. I have no idea what it feels like to capitulate to the language of my oppressors, to forget the language of my culture, or to be judged based on how I arrange my words. While ethnicity and language in Hawai'i are more complex than elsewhere, I, as a haole born on Kaua'i, am not qualified to write much of a commentary on stereotyping or racism. So I'll stop there.  

I posted her writing because, for me, it is a powerful reminder of the severe limitations of my perspective. 

When fixing potholes is our government's main priority, then fixing government must be our main priority

“The only thing we have to fear is fear itself..."
- President Franklin Delano Roosevelt, inaugural address 1933

"My fellow Americans, ask not what your country can do for you; ask what you can do for your country. My fellow citizens of the world, ask not what America will do for you, but what, together, we can do for the freedom of man."
- President John F Kennedy, inaugural address, 1961

"There is nothing wrong with America that cannot be cured by what is right with America."
- President Bill Clinton, inaugural address, 1993

"On this day, we gather because we have chosen hope over fear, unity of purpose over conflict and discord ... The time has come to reaffirm our enduring spirit; to choose our better history; to carry forward that precious gift, that noble idea, passed on from generation to generation: the God-given promise that all are equal, all are free, and all deserve a chance to pursue their full measure of happiness."
- President Barack Obama, inaugural address, 2009

"Lets make a vow to have Puhi road paved... let's say within the next six months... "
- Council Chair Mel Rapozo, Kaua'i County inaugural address, 2014

My last post contained a glaring omission in the Kamanu Composites story. While our dedicated composites technicians and loyal customers define us as a company, government services are what enable our success. From zoning ordinances, to trash disposal, to road maintenance, to electricity regulation, to state unemployment insurance-- our freedom to prosper in business is the direct result of government services, regulation, and intervention in the market.

As I wrote about last week in The Death of Local Manufacturing, when we give the market too much control to dictate our economic direction, as we are doing on Kaua'i, we lose the ability to foster diverse and viable alternative industries. When the government lacks vision, we suffer and we stifle the chance for our children to thrive. Continuation of the current status-quo means that life on Kaua'i will become progressively harder for local people to afford a home; it means continued and increasing dependence on tourism and resort development; it means that local agricultural will continue to decline; it means that local manufacturing will continue to look elsewhere; it means that we will continue to lose access to our natural resources; and it means that the only well paying jobs will continue to be off-island.  

Our county Inauguration was on Monday, an event that is like the opening ceremony of the Olympics: a time of incomparable hope, unity, and optimism before the bloodsport of the actual competition. Inaugurations are a chance for our elected officials to explain their vision for the future, to inspire renewed faith in government, and to reassure us that they are committed to working for the public good by fighting the status-quo. Mayor Carvalho's Holoholo 2020 inaugural address in 2010 was a perfect example of how an elected official can momentarily inspire us all towards a better collective future. With all that in mind, I walked into this year's county inauguration with high expectations and, six hours later I limped out weighed down by the crushing bureaucracy and the endless in-fighting of the Kaua'i County Council.   

Council Chair Rapozo's inaugural address was a clear statement that our island's systemic issues will continue to go unmentioned. Maybe my expectations were too high or I'm naive and idealistic, but I was hoping his speech would provide an outline for more than clean park bathrooms, quality performance audits, and support for burning trash as a solution to our landfill problem. The stark realism of that depressing priority list was topped off by his number one commitment for the county of Kaua'i: the re-surfacing of Puhi road. 

Road maintenance is a basic county service, not a bargaining chip or an achievement. In just four years we traded in the grand and sweeping vision of Mayor Carvalho's Holoholo 2020, which included expanded bus service, a north and south shore shuttle, and green affordable housing for the stark fiscal realism of Council Chair Rapozo's vision of re-surfacing a road. Obviously the road needs to be paved, but, by promoting it as priority #1 our council chair is relegating our county government to just fulfilling basic services. What about a government that works to increase economic freedom, enables environmental protection, and fights for Kaua'i residents to retain their way of life? Nope, let's let the market take care of that while the government focuses on paving roads and cleaning bathrooms. 

While disappointed in the inaugural speech, I held on to the delusion that the new council might be able to reconcile their differences in the spirit of a new beginning. However, the debate over the new council rules quickly shattered that illusion. I won't go into detail on the rule changes on this blog, but, they are important for us to pay attention to and I urge you to read Loren Kohnfelder's two posts on the subject (here and here) and Joan Conrow's different perspective in her two posts on the subject (here and here). The important take-away is that the council chair has vastly increased his authority, and the rule changes forced each council member to either vow their allegiance or state their opposition to the new consolidation of power. If it sounds like Game of Thrones, that's because it is like Game of Thrones. 

The one bright spot of the day was the confirmation of Mauna Kea Trask to the position of County Attorney. His high level of integrity, intelligence, experience, and background make him perfectly suited for the job. The legal wing of our county government is in good hands with the complimentary team of Mauna Kea Trask as our County Attorney and Justin Kollar as our County Prosecuting Attorney.  

The death of local manufacturing

"...We don’t outsource, re-sell, or source canoes. We build them from start to finish. Materials come in and canoes go out. We believe it results in better products, reduces our environmental footprint, stimulates our local economy, and provides high skilled jobs to our community... In the end, it’s about satisfied customers, happy workers, and a healthy world."  

      - Kamanu Composites, LLC "Reason for being." 

If you know me only from my blog, then you probably have a skewed impression of me spending my days wallowing in mud, critiquing the experience and occasionally cutting off a chickens head. But, those days are rare. Most of the time I'm clean shaven, wearing matching socks, and trying to manage sales and finance for Kamanu Composites. Because my writing often generates heated conflict (which I don't want to bring upon our shop), I have relegated the focus of this blog strictly to my personal life. While I spend my days attempting (and sometimes failing) to ensure the profitability of the company that I helped found, I'm just one small cog of this socialistic manufacturing machine. And, since my strong opinions are rarely the consensual opinions of our shop, I do my best to avoid getting Kamanu mired up in the moral mud that my writing wades through. But, since my business experience has shaped my perspective (which is the basis of this blog), for once I'll break my own rule and write about it.

In a story ripe with cliche, my two close friends and I spent our four years at Kaua'i High School dreaming about becoming canoe builders. Since paddling outrigger canoes was the focal point of our lives, we would sit around on the weekends continually rehashing our ideas for this imaginary business. When we graduated, we split up to go to college, each with an appointed direction: one went to school for composites fabrication, one went to school for aeronautical engineering, and I went to school for business (I ended up switching to History). In 2007, upon returning from college, we founded our dream company. There was just one problem.

While we were all from Kaua'i, we started the company on O'ahu. Materials were easier to source, Grainger Industrial Supply was right around the corner, and most of the Hawai'i market for outrigger canoes is there. Our intention was to spend a few years getting started then move the operation to Kaua'i.

In 2010, I was severely injured during a canoe race and flew home to recover. The move was supposed to be temporary, but, after being away from Kaua'i for seven years, I couldn't imagine leaving again. So, I had to make a decision-- either go back to O'ahu to continue managing production, or, stay on Kaua'i, take a pay-cut and relegate my official duties to what I could do remotely. I chose Kaua'i. And I've grappled with that decision every day since.

In 2011, one of my partners also faced a similar decision. Being desperate to move back to Kaua'i, he sold most of his share in the company and found a job selling cars in Lihu'e.

Now, seven years after we began our company, we've outgrown our current location and are looking for other options. One of which is to finally bring Kamanu to Kaua'i.

As a manufacturing shop we need industrial zoning. We need 200 amps of electricity for our large CNC machine, industrial oven, and our powerful compressor and vacuum pump. And we need an open floor plan of 6,000-8,000 square feet so that we can maneuver large canoes around. Any building that we move into would need around $100,000 in infrastructure improvements (mainly ventilation systems).

So, here we are with a profitable shop, employing 20 local people at livable wages and good benefits, generating $40,000 a year in excise tax, infusing around $1,100,000 a year into our local economy ($.88 of every dollar we take in is spent in Hawai'i, includes tax, payroll, rent, and materials and does not include the multiplier effect of that money), making a product that otherwise would be outsourced (our main competitors are all in China, and therefore generate nearly nothing for the local economy), and doing it in as environmentally friendly a way as we can (one of two Hawai'i businesses certified by the EPA for using exclusively renewable energy).* And, most importantly, we are highly motivated to bring the shop to Kaua'i-- yet we can't do it.

Why?

For the same reason that owning a home is out of reach for almost every young person on Kaua'i. For the same reason that we're losing access to our coastline and natural resources. For the same reason that local agriculture isn't profitable.

Because our island home is incomparably beautiful, we're losing it. We have made tourism, and the low wage service jobs its provides, the back bone of our economy. Unlike O'ahu, which still has a diversified economy, Kaua'i is marketed as a place of resort communities where the vacation never has to end. Every high end land purchase pushes island-wide prices a little higher and we have created a market fueled by overseas money that is nearly impossible for local people, with local jobs, to buy into. Industrial land (along with agricultural land) is competing against the gentrification/resortification of our island. And, in a story repeated throughout every desirable community in the country, gentrification always wins. Remember the industrial zone in Kilauea, near Guava Kai? Yeah, neither do I.

Without adequate government intervention, the quiet totalitarianism of capitalism forces us to march in step with the invisible force of the market. Because if we don't, we get priced out of our island home (both literally and figuratively).

With just a few vacant heavy industrial spaces for rent on island, all of which are under 2,000 square feet, and no vacant heavy industrial land for sale, moving our shop home is currently impossible.

In the same way that development erases our memory of what used to be, outsourcing erases our collective memory of production. Why build it here when we can buy it from elsewhere? While support for local agriculture remains (for good reason) a political buzzword, support for local manufacturing is... meh.

The composites manufacturing of Kamanu Composites, LLC doesn't fit our island's limited industrial model. Resort communities need custom cabinet shops and granite counter tops, not outrigger canoes. So, Kaua'i's industrial space is tailored to the 1200-2000 square feet necessary for small high-end craftsmen, not mass production. All of which adds to Kaua'i's dependence on tourism and resort developments. While we keep fueling the same fire that is burning us, the self-perpetuating circle continues.

So, now we're looking at signing a lease on a new 8,000 sq foot building on O'ahu. And I am forced again to choose between business and Kaua'i-- because in manufacturing you can't have both. For more info on who we are as a company, check out our website at kamanucomposites.com  or read below on why "we build" is our motto.

*Just because I love disclaimers, let me add that of course all is not perfect at Kamanu. See the dumpster in the beautiful picture above? We send out two of those per week, filled with less than environmentally friendly trash, as each canoe results in its own weight in waste. We also continuously face a variety of production and morale related issues. As is the case in everything I write about, unless we close our eyes completely, all roads are filled with morally ambiguous mud. All we can do is try to tread the cleanest path.  

The words below were taken from a Kamanu blog post I wrote in 2011.  

We Build

We Build Canoes. That three-word statement proudly proclaimed above was the simplest way to express what we do at Kamanu Composites. But the meat of that phrase is We Build. We don’t outsource, re-sell, or source canoes. We build them. Carbon fiber and epoxy come in and canoes go out.

The world is changing so quickly that it can be hard to catch a glimpse as it slips by. Five years ago most of us had never heard of Facebook or Barak Obama. Our phones hadn’t taken over our lives. Money was cheap and jobs were plentiful. Climate change was a distant threat. Tahitian dominance in the Moloka’i Hoe was still being blamed on flat water. And almost nobody was building canoes in Hawai’i. We, as Americans, were on top of a cloud. Debt financing was the way of the future. We didn’t have to produce anything. The cloud was supposed to take us as long as we kept consuming.

But it didn’t. Our extreme leveraging caught up with us and we collapsed. The market peaked in October 2007. Nearly the exact day that Kamanu Composites produced its first canoe. As fate would have it, we began our future here as millions of Americans saw their futures disappear along with their savings, homes, and jobs in the Great Recession.

That is the world that Kamanu Composites grew up in. And it has had a profound impact on where we’re at today. The canoe brought us together; formed us as individuals, as a company, and as a community. But, in the end it’s not really about the canoe. It’s about building. It’s about local production. It’s about being one small gear in this great machine of a world. It’s about the fact that we can’t continually rely on someone else. As a company, Kamanu Composites has framed every decision around one simple premise. We believe wholeheartedly in local manufacturing. Because part of America’s problem was that we forgot how to manufacture after giving it all away. Once we understood why we were doing what we do, it became easy to do what we do. As a community we can have a much greater impact than a small canoe building shop. Every decision we make puts us either one step forward or one step back. The answers are easy, but it starts with understanding why.